


Smile, It's Sunrise

by Bhelryss



Series: smile, it's sunrise [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: F/F, F/M, THEY'RE MARRIED!!, maybe even all of them ;3c, sends a prayer to god because im nervous about quality lmao, so many of them are married!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhelryss/pseuds/Bhelryss
Summary: for crimsm i took a couple suggestionshere's them!
Relationships: Chiki | Tiki/Emerina | Emmeryn, Eirika/L'Arachel (Fire Emblem), Miriel/Serge | Cherche, Riviera | Libra/Tiamo | Cordelia
Series: smile, it's sunrise [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580782
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

“Severa’s asleep,” Libra whispers, returning to the quiet little kitchen. “For now,” he adds with a quiet laugh. Cordelia smiles at him, her face lit up by warm candlelight, and his heart flutters in his chest. He loves her so much. He’s a husband and a father, and this is more than he’d ever thought he might live to see.

“You’re sure?” she teases, the corners of her eyes creasing as her smile deepens.

“Not even in the slightest.” 

Outside their window, in the house next to theirs, their neighbor plays their horn. The music is quieted by distance, but still loud enoough to be clear. Cordelia holds out her hand in silent invitation, and he closes the distance between them. She leads when they dance, his feet never quite comfortable with the steps, her hand resting gently at the small of his back.

She’s shorter than he is, but that doesn’t even slow her down. She’s confident here, in their quiet night together. It’s like when they were first married, without a sweet daughter to put to bed, dancing into the morning. It’s not like Olivia’s dancing, not nearly so skilled, but it has always been an excuse to touch, to hold close together, to breathe the same air. He loves her so fiercely.

They don’t stay up so late anymore, now that Severa needs her breakfast on time and her hair brushed and fixed and a kiss on her cheek before they take her to play with Cynthia and Owain. Slowly they rock in a circle, avoiding the cabinets and the stove as they move. Sliding past the ice box and the kitchen table and into the family room. This is what love is, he’s sure of it.

Cordelia dips him with a laugh, and Libra goes willingly. He trusts her not to drop him. (Though, there are so many things that are worse than being dropped to the floor by his wife, and he wouldn’t complain even if she did.) At the very lowest part of the dip, Libra leans forward to press a chaste kiss against her lips. He feels her laugh in the pulse of air on his face, rather than in the sounds in the air.

“I love you,” Libra says, because he’s always breathless with it.

When she sets him back on his feet, she pulls him down so she can kiss him. “I love you,” she says back, smoothing a thumb over his cheek. He leans into the touch, and thinks about praying for a moment, a thank you to the universe for the love and happiness he’s found. 

But the moment passes, and instead he kneels at the feet of his wife, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, kissing her palm. “I love you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> l'arachel/eirika

“Eirika!!” L’Arachel calls, pulling off bits of armor as she strides through the halls. She doesn’t have much armor to speak of, but she drops a gauntlet by the stairs, a pauldron by the door. She steps into a room, unfortunately rather empty, and props her gloved, but not gauntleded fists on her hips. “Eirika!!?”

Dozla’s stomps behind her, ever loyal and laughing. “Wait up, my lady!” He’s gamely carrying her stave, dropped as it was at the very steps of their home, and chuckling like he always does.

“Eirika,” L’Arachel calls out again, “I’m home!”

With the very patience of the saints, L’Arachel spends a short moment waiting for a return call, and then strides forward decisively. “Don’t worry Dear! I’ll find you!” Flapping a hand at Dozla, a dismissal and thanks all in one, L’Arachel doesn’t bother looking back. 

Sparks drip from her fingers as she goes, her high spirits literally radiating off her in droplets of light magic, a joyous hum vibrating in her throat. She’s home, fresh from the Wood, a queen of justice and light and purity, eager to kiss her wife. “Eirika!”

“Here!” is a quiet little answer, from somewhere deeper in the house. Or perhaps from outside a window! The hunt is on, and L’Arachel laughs to herself as she peeks in every door. She looks out every window on the ground floor, hoping for a flash of blue. Eirika’s hair is so beautiful, so soft and wavy, a pleasure to brush every morning. Oh, how she misses her wife!

“My beautiful love, the bright sun of my life, where have you gone?”

“Over here!”

It’s a tease, a game. L’Arachel beams, and opens up a closet with a little too much flourish. “Here?” Aw, empty. She shuts the door on the unfortunate linens that were not Eirika, and turns around to survey her own home. Her hunt has been fruitless, her only path forward lies up the stairs. “Eirika!!” L’Arachel sings out, “I’m coming!”

She takes the stares two at a time, bouncing up with endless energy. “Sweet Eirika,” L’Arachel sings, standing upon the landing staring out at closed doors and curtained windows. “Where are you!”

Eirika is spotted as she sneaks from room to room, trying to keep ahead of L’Arachel. “Love!” She cries, leaping forward. Eirika catches her with strong arms, holding her up from the ground for a long moment as L’Arachel peppers her face with small kisses. “I missed you so horribly.”

“You weren’t gone but half a day,” Eirika says with a little laugh, adjusting her hold on L’Arachel so that she doesn’t have to put her down. “But, I missed you too.” L’Arachel drapes herself around Eirika like a charming coat, resting her chin on the top of Eirika’s head. “Will you ever get tired of this.”

“Never,” L’Arachel affirms, “I love it when you hold me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3: tiki/emmeryn

There are some true things in the universe: gods can be cruel, people can be kind, and no matter the circumstances people will fall in love. Immortality or not, people meet and fall in love. They get married, even, no matter the circumstances, no matter the wars and the evils that walk the world.

Unkindness brings them together. A war, deaths, ruin in the skies. Emmeryn saw her first in a field of flowers, eyes closed and listening for things man can’t hear. Others had shied away from her, thinking her fey and strange, divinity radiating from her eyes and making her unnerving to look at, but Emmeryn had been the voice of the eastern church. She had been the figurehead of a nation, the linchpin of Ylisse’s churches. Emmeryn had been called divine nearly her whole life, so Tiki hadn’t scared her.

“I should’ve been scared of you,” Emmeryn muses sleepily, her head on Tiki’s shoulders. “You were so beautiful, and everyone said you were odd. That you were too close to Naga for anyone to understand. That you weren’t like us.”

Tiki hums, radiating heat like a furnace. Since they’d begun sleeping together, Emmeryn hasn’t had any need for heavy blankets in the winter. Her smile is tiny, sharp, shows off her fangs.  _ Incredibly _ sexy. She blinks slowly, and nods. “I have been known to eat people.” Emmeryn snorts, and snuggles in closer. 

“Eat my council then,” Emmeryn suggests, without any of the grace she wears to meetings, “They think they’re very important. Rebuilding has been slower than I’d like…”

“I can’t!” Tiki chirps, “You’re very big, and very heavy. Maybe if you move?”

Emmeryn tightens her arms around Tiki. A loud, nonverbal ‘no.’

Tiki goes back to humming, and Emmeryn slowly shuffles them both around until she finds a more comfortable position. She closes her eyes, and leans into Tiki’s warmth. “Sleeping?” Tiki purrs, brushing her claws up Emmeryn’s arm. Emmeryn mumbles an affirmative, and tries to pull Tiki further down into the cushions of their sitting furniture. The bed is so far away, after all.

“Sleeping,” Emmeryn affirms, kissing the parts of Tiki that she can reach without moving. “Come to bed?”

Tiki laughs, and follows, settling slowly. “We’re already there, aren’t we?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> miriel/cherche

Gerome sits in Miriel’s lap, quiet and attentive. She has her arms around him, a pad of paper and a scratchy pen close to hand. Laurent, under Cherche’s careful supervision, pats his baby fists against her scales. She rumbles contendly though, and Cherche closes her eyes and laughs when Laurent’s unexpected burst of baby babble startles Minerva into a snort.

Carefully, Miriel draws a distinctly draconic skull. Then, she pauses, and pulls her writing implement away from the paper. “Classify?”

“Skull.” Gerome says, confidently.

“Also known as?”

“C...ra...Cranium?”

“Very good.” To prove that this is truth, she dips her head to press her lips to the top of Gerome’s head. He wiggles a little, because he’s proud of his independence and pretends he’s too old for maternal affection, but she knows he’s got a happy little smile on his face. She knows her son.

When Laurent is done exploring, Cherche comes to sit with her wife. Sitting closely together, Laurent in Cherche’s lap and Gerome in Miriel’s and Minerva basking in the sunshine like a large and scalely cat, Miriel is at peace. From in the distance, an excited shout splits the quiet air. Gerome leaps from his seat, and turns back to look at his mothers from over his shoulder.

“Cynthia and Brady are here,” he says. 

“Go play, sweetling.” Cherche replies, “We’ll be here.”

As he runs off, Cherche scoots a little closer to Miriel, close enough that their legs and hips touch. One hand stabilizes Laurent, keeping him carefully upright and secured, but the other searches out for Miriel’s.

Her hands are rough with calluses, rough with work without gloves, where Miriel’s hands are cool to the touch but also lightly scarred. Magical mishaps have left their marks in slightly raised, firm tissue, smooth to the touch but tactilely different. Different pasts, but the same path forward to the future.

“I love you,” Miriel says, with the smoothness of time and practice and truth. Once, it had been impossible, but now it’s almost easy.

“I love you,” Cherche answers.


End file.
